


Monster Money

by Tardisssin221B



Category: PewDiePie - Fandom, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Finance, Money, Mystery, Septiplier - Freeform, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-05 17:43:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10313606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tardisssin221B/pseuds/Tardisssin221B
Summary: Mark Fischbach is a Wall Street guru under the alias "Wilfred Warfstache" as the host for the television show "Mo$ter Money," a show about investing in large stocks. During a live broadcast, an aggravated investor marches onto set and takes Fischbach, along with the control box, hostage. As Fischbach tries to plea with the man, he's also communicating with the director, Sean McLoughlin, through a provided ear piece that is used during showtime. Together, the two must strategize on how to disarm the man and dismantle the situation.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based off of the movie "Money Monster" that came out in 2016. I, myself, have not seen the movie, so the story is based off of two-three summaries I read about the movie. I thought the use of this plot would be fun after I thought up an AU where Mark used his alternate ego, Wilfred, to be a news anchor or something. Jack's role in this was either to be a crew member or the director. This then led me to remembering a movie like my idea...and that's why were here!
> 
> I've decided to make a small character list in order to explain who everyone is in this story and their role for those who haven't seen the movie. I'll leave the link to the trailer below just in case if anyone want's to get a better idea. 
> 
>  
> 
> Characters:
> 
> -Mark Fischbach is the host of "Mon$ter Money" and goes under the alias of "Wilfred Warfstache."
> 
> -Sean McLoughlin, or Jack, is the director of "Mon$ter Money" in Los Angeles. He is close with Mark, them being long time partners in various shows and broadcastings.
> 
> -Felix Kjellberg is the SIBI CEO of "Mon$ter Money."
> 
> -Garrett Williamson is an investor who lost it all to the show. He becomes outraged, and as a result, hijacks the show searching for answers.
> 
> -Marzia Loler is the SIBI Chief Communications officer.
> 
> -Wade Barnes is the creator of the algorithm for the show. The algorithm is for trading stocks and possibilities from the audience to that specific stock market.
> 
> -Bob Muyskens is the producer of "Mon$ter Money" who is on set the day of the incident. 
> 
>  
> 
> Money Monster Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qr_nGAbFkmk 
> 
> All rights go to the creators of the film "Money Monsters." Nothing is mine except for the small changes in the story and they way I have chosen to write.

Shock.

That’s all that resonated throughout the host’s mind. 

His steady brown eyes progressed from the floor, his shaking hands raised in the air as he advanced. His breath was staggered, for his heart was beating rapidly in his throat. His chocolate eyes took in the scene around him as he moved, being mindful of the set he took advantage of plenty of times. Once the host was seated on his bottom rather than his sore knees, the male flicked his head to the side to rid of the ebony hair that littered his matching eyes. After taking in his settings, the male rested his sore eyes on the other male that screamed at the cameras set up around them. 

The male wasn’t listening to his howls, but rather focused his attention on his friend in his ear. The director could be heard trying to communicate with his colleagues around, firing more nerves and panic through the host’s bones. The chaos that was projected into his ear wasn’t helping him, and as much as he wanted to remove it, the male knew he couldn’t. That ear piece was his ticket to staying alive. He knew the director was trying to get a hold of the police in a quiet and modest way, and the quicker he could do that, the faster and more guarantee the both of them would have to life.

“…Or I will kill him,” the captor yelled into the camera posted in the middle. The male raised the gun at the host planted on the floor, resulting in a sharp inhale from the male. “So help me, I will pull the trigger if I don’t get my answers. I lost everything to you!” He continued to swear. His gaze flashed from the camera to the host on the floor, his expression lighting up as his eyes settled. The captor pointed the gun at the host’s chest, particularly at the vest littered with bombs that hung on his shoulders.

A moment later, the clap of a gun rang throughout the building.

 

March 8, 2016. 5:23 P.M.  
“We go live in seven minutes,” Sean McLoughlin hollered throughout the set to the crew. The male readjusted the fat headset that covered his ears, lowering the mouthpiece to hover in front of his pink lips. As he adjusted, he watched the crew work around him, preparing for the broadcast that was about to take place. Once done, the director looked down at the stack of papers that he held. 

“Damn it,” he scoffed through his teeth before flashing his blue eyes up to the crew dressed in black. “Where’s Mark?” Sean interrogated, his eyes searching through the crowd. They flashed toward the set, checking Mark’s assigned seat as the crew mumbled declines to him. Sean raised his arms and dropped them in a sarcastic manner, letting them bounce against his legs as he tilted his head to the side. “Well, whoever sees him, tell him he has a show to run,” the director instructed, rolling his tired eyes as he marched around his crew. 

Mark always did this to Sean. He always came at last minute, his intention to give a small shock to Sean and raise his nerves. The host would always make up small excuses, trying to play off his tardiness as if he were in high school again. No matter how many times he was late, Sean would give a stern sentence before turning into his friend once more. 

As Sean continued to check the cameras with the crew, a familiar low voice sang throughout the set. “Well, hello everybody!” the voice resonated as the host entered the set. He buttoned the first black button of his blazer, his silk, pink tie illuminating different shades as he worked his fingers on the button. A smirk formed on his lips as he searched the set for a particular person, his eyes resting with energy as they settled on Sean. Sean looked over his shoulder, exhaling loudly as he processed his star. 

“Mark, it’s almost two minutes till we’re live. Where have you been?” Sean questioned, a brow furrowing as he walked away from the crew member and his camera. It wasn’t a surprise to Sean that Mark was late once more, for the stress Sean was dealing with was already about to overflow. As Sean settled in front of the host, his eyes settled on the clay mugs in his hands. Mark offered him the mug on his right, holding it out to him with a small movement of his arm.

“I was getting coffee, Jack,” Mark retorted, his chocolate eyes watching as the director took the cup from his grasp and immediately raised it to his lips. As Sean relentlessly took in a gulp of the steaming drink, Mark continued to build his argument. “Am I not allowed to help my friend with his burning stress?” He questioned with a small, over exaggerated tone supported by a squint of his sable eyes. Once done, Mark raised his own mug to his lips, watching as the crew members worked their magic around them.

Sean lowered the green mug, shaking his head as he did. As one of his closest friends, Sean couldn’t stay mad at Mark, especially when he brought him coffee. “Whatever,” Sean snorted, raising his gaze to the taller male. The tension had drained from Sean’s face as he looked up at Mark. Sean always liked having Mark around, for their longtime friendship always made Sean comfortable. Working with Mark as partners had also built the relationship, resulting in the two becoming extremely close throughout the years. 

“Heard the news lately?” Mark challenged, raising a brow as a makeup artist came to fix the host’s black tuffs of hair at last minute. Sean snapped out of his thoughts, blinking as he did. 

“Oh, no. What happened?” He asked softly, giving off a questionable tone through his thick, Irish accent. He raised the green mug to his lips once more, taking another hot sip. He took a mental note on how the liquid flowed through him and how his insides became warmer with each little swig. 

“Obama vowed to release the data on drone killings. Isn’t that something. Imagine what that’s gonna do,” Mark scoffed, giving a small nod to the make-up artist as she rushed off to the dancers. A disgusted look crawled on his face as he placed his red mug down on the floor by his feet. He adjusted his sleeves, making sure he was screen appropriate before picking the mug full of black coffee once more. 

“Yeah,” Sean admitted absent mindedly. “That’s not going to be pleasant,” he continued, looking down at his steaming cup. The male didn’t know much about politics, even after all the time he spent in America. Come to think of it, Sean didn’t care for it, finding it just another item to ruin his day. He raised the mug to his lips once more in an awkward manner, his blue eyes wide at the stiff tone between them. Mark noticed, pushing out a laugh.

“My mistake,” he apologized, taking a swig of the black coffee. He understood Sean didn’t like the thought of politics, for the director has told him multiple times. Mark was going to nudge his friend, but a deafening buzz rang throughout the room. In unison, their eyes flashed toward the source of the buzzer that flashed the bold, red words “One Minute.” Mark chuckled, playing off their short scare. He patted Sean’s shoulder, signaling for him to walk him to set. 

Sean picked up the gesture, raising the mug to his lips as he started to progress to the set. “Alright, Mark,” Sean began as he took a large step onto set. Mark settled in his assigned chair in the middle of the set, looking up at Sean as he began. “Just a regular day in the park. Remember the routine?” Sean examined, his blue eyes wide as he scanned Mark one last time for error. 

“Yes, Jack. I’m fine,” Mark whined, raising his gaze toward the director after settling behind the large, white desk that stood in front of his chair. He ran a hand over his tie once more, flattening it to compliment his ironed clothes. “You act like we haven’t done this for the past year,” he continued, knocking Sean as he sent him a famous and signature smirk. Sean rolled his eyes playfully before he shifted his body to leave. 

“Oh,” Sean interjected, his stare moving down to his dark jean pockets. He shot a hand up to save his head set from falling, for the sudden jolt almost sent them to the floor. Murmuring a couple of curses and angered sentences as he searched his left pocket, Sean finally resurfaced his hand from his right pocket. Making a mental note to start carrying a bag with him, Sean looked up from his hips with a victorious smile. Holding out his right hand, a small, nude object rested in his palm. “You almost forgot your ear piece,” Sean mentioned as he altered the gigantic ear phones on the side of his head.

Mark took the ear piece, and with momentum, placed the piece in his ear. He shot Sean a thumbs up with a small smile, signaling for the man to find his own designated area for the show. Sean cleared his throat, scanning the crew members reconciled in their positions. The male turned on his head set, hearing the faint beep ring out throughout his head. “Alright, people!” Sean called, gaining the attention of the crew. “We go live in three, two, one-” Sean signaled, his fore and middle finger together flicking toward the set as he scurried off into the control box. 

“Hello, everybody!” Sean heard the host interject from his desk as he made his way into the control room. “My name is Wilfred Warfstache, and welcome back to yet another broadcast on Mon$ter Money,” Mark initiated standing up from his chair and pushing it away with the back of his knees. Sean settled into his seat with ease, readjusting the mic ahead of his face. 

“Camera two,” he instructed, his baby blue eyes settling on the compact screen before him. His attention centered on Mark, following his tone and body language as he began to dance around screen with two back up dancers. The male blinked furiously, a hand running over the desk in search for his glasses. He sent another wave of cures from his lips as his hands rested on his glasses, and with a swift motion, the glasses were unfolded and resting on the bridge of his nose. “Good,” he urged to Mark, his lips curling into a small smile as he observed his friend. His nerves settled as Mark continued to dance, leading on the show with a bang. 

“We got a great show today. The stocks are low right now and it’s a great time to buy…” Mark stated, crossing his legs and spinning a small, swift circle. He flashed a smile to the camera, finishing the routine with the backup dancers as the song finished. Sean focused, giving small commands here and there to the crew behind the scenes. They followed almost immediately, resulting in small praises from Sean into his mic. 

As the show began to settle, Sean relaxed in his seat. He let out a soft breath through his nose, holding it for as long as he could before his body crave another inhale. The director viewed Mark, remarking some financial and stock facts into the host’s ear with a smirk. Sean always found it entertaining to correct simple mistakes from the Wall Street guru, for he knew almost anything about the financial world. 

The show started getting into business, for Mark was starting to pull out interesting stocks and behaviors that may have sparked interest. He reported their status, reporting if it was a strong stock to invest in or not. His right hand rested flat on the table, his left in a fist. He smiled charmingly toward the camera, giving more detail toward a specific stock as an uproar of sound effects developed, signaling for the next topic. 

Mark rushed his sentences, beaming as he spat out the words rapidly. Once finished with firing his script, the host whirled his large chair toward the opposite camera he was previously facing. “Now,” Mark gasped, flicking a tuff of his hair from his face in a dramatic manner, “it’s time for our own stocks report. Our stock market has seemed to plunge a little today. The stocks have declined about two thousand dollars today,” Mark emphasized, taking his time on his wording, his facial expression matching his tone. His gaze shifted around to different cameras as a low, miserable sound resonated throughout the set. He looked up, searching the set like a lost child. 

“But no worries,” Mark interrupted, his stare flashing toward the middle camera, “buying should be at its highest today. As you all know, buying stocks at their low point is the best time to buy!” Mark grinned, flashing the camera with his white teeth as he clasped his hands on the desk, as if halting all the havoc. 

As Mark continued to promote the company’s stocks, Sean was signaling for crew members to prepare for another breakout. As he was helping the crew members inside of the control box, his fix drifted away from Mark and the set, but rather to the crew members and their small needs in order to create a productive broadcast. 

During that time away from the screen, Sean did not notice a head poke through onto set. The unknown male peaked out behind the crimson curtains that hung behind the giant projector. His expression looked absent, as if he walked in the wrong direction. But rather then turning around and walking back behind the curtain, he remained. His character hardened on Mark, his eyes becoming dead behind the thick glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose. There, the mysterious person remained, the black baseball cap on top of his head directing different shadows across his pale face as the set was engulfed in different, flaring lights.

Once Sean was done attending the crew members, he returned his mind back to Mark and his performance. More dancing was to come telling by the disco lights, producing another smile on Sean’s face. But, Sean’s grin directed toward his friend fell short. His blue eyes grew as they landed on foreign person peaking behind the crimson curtains. 

“Who is that?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. The ending of the marking period for school was coming up and I had a lot to complete.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy chapter 2!

March 8, 2016. 6:02 P.M.  
As the male’s eyes remained positioned on the alien peeking through the curtains, his plump lips parted slightly. The crew in the control box began mumbling questions one by one, stuffing the enclosed space with frantic tones and hot air. The director saw Mark send a questioning gesture as he scurried to his feet, beginning a new musical number. But as the music began and the dancers shuffled out, the strange man debuted from the crimson curtains. 

The male on set walked out of the curtains in a calm manner, acting as if another character on the show. In his pale, nimble hands were brown boxes stacked neatly from largest to smallest. He carried the boxes with ease, and with a couple of strands of dirty blonde hair poking into his eye from underneath his glasses, he approached the host. The alien’s expression remained still, as if he were just another annoyed delivery man.

Mark saw the unknown male from out of the corner of his eye. His coal-colored eyebrows furrowed, and his face scrunched up in a confused expression as the man progressed. Mark continued to dance, mentally skimming the memorized script. The anchor watched as the delivery man set down the packages before effortlessly turning over to Mark, as if waiting. Mark, as a result of his bewilderment, waved his hands and stopped dancing, asking for the set members to shut off the music and return to normal. 

Sean, during this time, managed to overcome his shock. He grasped his tongue, and with effort, drove his words out of his throat. “He’s not in the script,” he mumbled, grabbing a copy of the script and flipping through it. The director pushed himself to his feet, having to stand due to how dizzy he was getting. His head hung heavy as it tilted downward, reading frantically through the lines and actions as he tried to find where they were. The headset was blowing up with questions from downstairs, pushing Sean’s head to feel as if it was going to explode. 

“I wasn’t expecting mail,” Mark recited, going off of the script and creating his own dialogue. His brown eyes floated down to the boxes resting on his table. The host’s tan hands reached out to touch them, but the unknown male interjected. 

“I have a delivery for Wilfred Warfstache at this address,” he expressed bluntly, his facial expression mimicking his tone. 

His blue eyes looked bored under his glasses, and Mark could only assume that his job tired him. His attire, however, did not match one that a mailman would wear. The distant male wore a pair of navy blue jeans that hugged his waist perfectly. They looked secure around his legs as it traveled down to his shoes. The grey sneakers looked as if they were vans or converse, but Mark couldn’t make them out. On his torso hung a complementary hoodie, which was layered with a bulky black jacket. The jacket matched his raven baseball cap, topping off his wardrobe. 

After reviewing the mysterious character, Mark sent a glance to the director’s box. He searched for Sean, and when he found the male looking down at the stack of papers rapidly, he swallowed hard. “I didn’t order anything,” he countered, retreating his attention back to the male. Mark felt uneasy as he watched his facial expression change, for he wanted to shrink back.

Sean looked up from the script, biting his lip as he watched Mark turn his attention back to the male. His royal blue eyes shot toward the mystery male, and their eyes met. The male stared daggers into Sean, resulting in a chill running down Sean’s spine. He wanted to pull his attention away, but he knew the consequences if he did. The script remained open in his hands, but as Sean watched the male pull out a gun, the script fell smoothly to the floor with a crash. 

Mark’s ebony eyes widened, and people began to scream and gasp at the sight of the gun. Mark began to reach for it as an act of defense, but the sound of a gunshot sent him to find shelter on the floor. A sweat began to break across his tan forehead, and his eyes felt as if they could pop out of the sockets. His breath hitched in this throbbing throat, for the flow of air in and out of his lungs was now out of tune with his racing heart. 

Sean stood still as the room filled with more frightened cries and gasps. Another shot rang out, and more of the crew members began to scatter. The director pushed himself to become the leader once more, forcing his way out of his head and into reality. “Everyone remain calm, damn it!” He ordered, his accent thick and stern in his words. Sean’s expression now corresponded with his tone-his eyebrows furrowed and his nose scrunched at the bridge of his glasses. “He hasn’t shot anyone. Return to your stations and listen for my word. Everyone is going to live,” He instructed, his tone shifting to a softer one. 

“Does that include me, Jack?” Mark whispered from the floor, his eyes flicking from the dull-colored floor to the director’s box. Sean nodded, mumbling a yes into his mic before urging himself to think of a plan. 

“What do I do, Jack?” Mark pleaded, his chocolate eyes remaining on the director’s box. His breath continued to stagger as his heart still raced. Thoughts rushed through his head, clogging the once clear mind he had moments ago. Mark thought about his family and friends and how shitty it would be to die on the cold floors of his job. The anchor imagined his maroon colored blood spilling out from fresh gunshot wounds, staining the plain grey floor beneath him.

“Remain cool,” Sean insisted, snatching Mark away from his trans. “I’ll get back to you in a moment. I need to get everyone else relaxed,” he informed. As soon as Sean said that, Mark was pulled to his feet. The male pulled the host up by the collar, sending him a threatening look. Mark’s eyes flashed toward his free hand, his stomach dropping even lower. 

Rather than the pistol the alien possessed just seconds ago, the man held a vest. The vest looked bulky and thick, having lumps in odd places around the clothing. His pale, teal eyes poked daggers into Mark, and the words that flowed from his pasty lips. “Put this on,” he commanded with a stiff tone. 

Mark hesitated, and once more, he looked toward Sean for help. Unfortunately, his friend’s back was turned toward the set. The host felt alone in that moment, for his one source of living was busy calming others. Mark swallowed hard, his lips parting in confusion. He didn’t know what to do, but he knew one thing-he had to make a decision quickly. Mark tilted his head upward, his eyes locking with the cold, dead ones above. 

Immediately, Mark straightened himself up. The male let go of the anchor, holding out his hand that clenched the vest. Mark hesitantly took the clothing from the unknown man, throwing it around his back before sticking his arms through the cut out holes. The tanned vest was heavy around Mark’s shoulders, his neck receiving an awkward throb from its weight.

“No one look at him. He’s armed and isn’t afraid to hurt any of us. You guys,” Sean instructed, pointing a pale finger toward the small group that had formed, “you will walk off this set. On my word, you will open that door and walk out. Do not look at him, do not speak, and don’t do anything stupid. Walk out of this building and call for help. The camera crew is going to stay because there is less of them. Now, go,” Sean pushed, motioning for them to walk out of the door.

As the members filed out of the room, Sean turned back toward Mark. “I’m getting help. Do me a favor, ask his n-” the director was cut off by his host’s panting. He had returned to sitting on the floor, the weight of the vest intensifying.

“Jack, I’m wearing a bomb vest. He gave me a bomb vest. He has the activator…I see it in his hands,” Mark notified lowly, his copper eyes never leaving the sight on the male’s hand. Before Mark could speak any further, the male looked at the cameras. His blonde brow was furrowed, his lips sealed tight as he eyed them.

“Are these still on?” he interrogated, moving his sharp glare toward Sean. 

Sean inhaled sharply, his tense gaze locked onto the anonymous man. The director slouched over the desk, his shaky hand moving to push a button. “Y-yes,” Sean approved on the overhead intercom. He pulled his hand away from it, straightening his posture as he returned to his stunned stare.

The unidentified male gave a small nod toward himself, turning to face Mark once more. “I’m guessing you want my name,” he inferred with the same flat tone. His royal blue eyes scanned Mark once more, taking mental note on small aspects. The man’s gaze became harsher, intensifying the thickness of the air for Mark. “Well, you should know me, Wilfred. You’re the man that ruined my life through your stupid acts.

“You took it all from me, Wilfred. I invested all I had into your stocks, and now I have nothing!” The male interjected, his blue eyes softening to become exposed and damaged. He licked his pale, thin lips before clenching his teeth. Within seconds, the male hardened, grabbing Mark by his vest and yanking him to his feet. 

“And now, I plan to take it all away from you.”


End file.
